SARAH

by Kate Tilney

  Sarah: Ridiculously Royal #1

  Ridiculously Royal, Volume 1

  Kate Tilney

  Published by Kate Tilney, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kate Tilney

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover Photos by

  nemetse/ depositphotos

  feedough/ depositphotos

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Sarah: Ridiculously Royal #1

  Sarah

  Ryan

  Sarah

  Ryan

  Sarah

  Ryan

  Sarah

  Ryan

  Sarah

  Ryan

  Sarah

  Ryan

  Epilogue | Sarah

  Also by Kate Tilney

  About the Author

  Princess Sarah

  As Princess of Rhodon I've spent most of my charmed life learning how to curtsy and host a party. Then a clerical error comes to light and it turns out I—and not my twin brother—am heir to the throne. Good-bye late-night clubbing, hello boring cabinet meetings and ribbon cuttings.

  And if that isn't enough, now my father, the King, insists I take a guard with me everywhere I go. What's a princess to do? Especially when that bodyguard is too stern but sexy for his own good.

  Ryan

  I'm as common as they come, and an American to boot. I’m here for a paycheck, not loyalty to the monarchy. Then I meet the princess, and I'm consumed with a need to protect her at all costs.

  When she begs for one day of freedom from her royal life, I can’t say no. The more I get to know the woman behind the crown, the more I want to be with her always. Even though ancient laws say we can never have a future.

  Ridiculously Royal is a series of standalone, insta-love steamy shorts about royals finding true love and happily ever afters that are anything but common. Check out SARAH if you like curvy princesses and alpha bodyguards who like to break the rules.

  Sarah

  Masking a yawn, I slip into the throne room. Nodding to my younger brother Alex, I take an empty seat with one minute to spare.

  While most kings have used the throne room for official events—such as investitures and proclamations—my father, King Reginald II of Rhodon, uses it for even the most mundane of family meetings. He says he likes the natural light that comes in through the East-facing windows. Mother says he loves the drama of sitting on a gold chair while he looks down on everyone.

  I cover my mouth to hide another yawn as my twin brother, Henry, sits next to me, unbuttoning his suit coat in a swift motion as he does.

  “I hope you were not up all night partying again.” He smirks. “I believe dancing on table tops would be conduct unbecoming of the future queen of Rhodon.”

  Despite what the press says, I have never danced on a table in my life. I could tell my brother I was up half the night studying our country’s constitution and history. But what would be the fun in that? “It’s only my first week on the job. I am bound to slip up.”

  “Mmm.” He nods, his dark brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “I have so much to learn about being the spare to the heir.”

  “I could give you a few pointers any time you like. But I imagine you will be a natural.”

  “One can hope.”

  It’s nice we can joke about this. I imagine others in our position—even in our own family tree—might not be able to find humor in the situation.

  Last week when word broke that high-ranking officials in the government and household had lied about our birth order twenty-six years ago, we had naturally been shocked. A week before Henry and I were born, our grandfather had changed the law so that the firstborn child—not the firstborn male—would be heir. Not everyone had been on board with modernization.

  Since we were literally born behind a curtain in an operating room, it had been easy for the paid-off doctors to lie to our parents and the world. They probably would have gotten away with it if one of the doctors had not suddenly grown a conscious. After more evidence surfaced to support his claim, the palace went into crisis mode. Meetings were held. People fired. Criminal charges ordered.

  And now, one day I will be queen and my brother—who trained for the job his whole life—will not.

  “You know,” I say, studying my nails, which could really use a fresh coat of paint, “I could always abdicate.”

  “We have been over this. I am afraid we both have too much duty and honor in our veins to do that.”

  He might, but I am not so sure about myself.

  Though he has not said it, based on how cheerful he has been this week, I suspect Henry is more than happy to give up the job. Lucky bastard.

  Before I can use my best, most annoying, sister tone to beg, our father enters the room followed by our mother.

  He frowns. “Where is James?”

  “Here, Father.” He saunters in through the door. “I was finishing up a meeting with an ambassador.”

  “Is that what they are calling lingerie models these days?” Henry mutters under his breath.

  Alex snorts, but pulls his shoulders up and back when Father glares at him.

  Still sporting a smirk, James plops down next to Alex. If they didn’t have the exact same face, you would hardly guess they were identical twins. One the perfect soldier. The other, Casanova in the flesh.

  James crosses an ankle over his knee. “What’s this all about, Pops?”

  Clearing his throat, father sits rigidly in his throne, every inch the king. I could practice for hours, and I’d never look so clearly in command.

  “I do not need to rehash the situation at hand. We have gone over that already. And even if we had not, I doubt you could have missed it.”

  Mother sighs. “The international press corps has rather runaway with this whole scandal.”

  “Not scandal. Situation.” Trust father to put a lifetime of public relations to work in a private family conversation. “Now, the issue is how we must act. Our new advisor”—his word for crisis manager—“suggests everyone resumes normal activities. Immediately.”

  James perks up. “Am I to return to Cambridge then?”

  Father nods, and James fist pumps. “Alex, you will rejoin your regiment.”

  Though he does not respond, there is no denying the relief on his face. Alex has never particularly enjoyed sticking around the palace longer than a holiday.

  “Your mother and I will return to our regular appearances and schedules.”

  That leaves only Henry and I without our marching orders. Unlike everyone else in this room, there is no going back to normal for us.

  At last, Father says, “Henry, I would like you to spend some time in London.”

  Henry arches an eyebrow. “Am I to be banished, then?”

  Mother rests a hand on Father’s forearm before he can reply. “Of course not darling. Our advisor simply believes it might be best to . . . keep you out of public view during the transition.”

  “Sounds like banishment to me,” Henry whispers for my ears only, before clearing his throat and speaking louder. “When do I leave?”

  “You three will leave in the morning.” Father turns his stare toward me. “As for you, as the future Queen of Rhodon, there are certain expectations of you.”

  From there he runs thro
ugh a list of my new job duties as a queen in training. First there are my private tutoring sessions in everything from the role our sovereign plays in government to how I properly knight a person. Then, I will need to add on to my list of charities. And if that was not enough, I will be expected to make appearances at the opera, ballet, and a handful of other dignified evening outing this week.

  A dull ache forms behind my eyes just thinking about it.

  There goes my social life. Before I can ask Father when I will have a chance to eat, sleep, or schedule a nail appointment, he holds up his hand.

  “There is one more matter. It is about your personal safety.” His tone takes on an edge sharp enough that even James’s smirk slips from his lips. “As the future queen, it will be necessary to increase your security detail. Particularly these next few months.”

  Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “Have there been threats?”

  “Nothing serious or concrete. However, I am afraid that there are a number of our residents who have yet to embrace the notion of a future queen.”

  “Probably the same jerks behind this whole mess to begin with,” James says, with a nod of agreement from Alex.

  “In light of these . . . tense emotions, I have hired a private security officer to accompany you at all times in the interim.”

  My jaw drops. This seems a little over the top. Especially if there have not been any threats. Though, the idea of a possible threat does put ice in my veins.

  “No shit.” James chuckles. “You get your own bodyguard?”

  “Security detail,” Father corrects. “He comes highly recommended from his agency. Served tours in Iraq and Afghanistan as well as a number of covert operations for the U.S. government.”

  “An American?” Alex frowns. “Were our soldiers not good enough?”

  “He works for an international agency that specializes in high profile clients.” Father gives Alex a silencing look before turning back to me. “I have arranged for you to meet him this afternoon.”

  “Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?” I ask. “I really do not see a need for a hired shadow with a gun.”

  “Protecting the life of the future sovereign is of the utmost importance. I expect you all to do as you have been told. It is your duty to bring honor to our family and country.”

  Ryan

  Who does a guy have to screw to get a cup of coffee around this place?

  Only years of training in the roughest conditions keep me from yawning or itching at the collar of the dark black suit I have been given to wear. Working in private security for the rich and famous, I’ve worn my share of uniforms for the job. But the heavy wool fabric of this overpriced palace-issued suit might be the worst yet.

  Then again, that could just be the jet-lag talking.

  My new boss Georgio, a middle-aged man with pencil-thin mustache and shocks of silver hair above his ears, clears his throat.

  “Shall we go over the royals, their titles, and forms of address one more time?”

  “I’m good.”

  His eyes narrow. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

  “I am.”

  I spent the flight from Seattle studying the Bible-sized dossier the palace had sent. It included a family tree dating back to the Middle Ages, and a list of royal protocol, including when I must bow—and for how long—to each member of the household. It had several chapters on my charge: the crowned princess herself. I know her charities, her ex-boyfriends, and every bar she’s set foot in. And I know that she’s a looker with a bit of sass.

  A princess with an attitude. Go figure.

  Georgio’s mustache twitches. “Your agency told us that you would bring your own firearm.”

  “I did.” Opening the coat, I reveal a Glock 22 in a holster. I lift my pant leg to show a Ruger. “I also have a few other pieces in the safe in my room.”

  “Very well. We’ll need you to provide a full list including makes, serial numbers and—”

  His order dies on his lips as I fish into my pocket and hand him a complete registry of every weapon I’ve brought.

  His dark eyebrows shoot up and I smirk.

  “My agency has a sterling reputation for a reason. Your king asked for the best. They’ve sent you the best.”

  “Humble too, it would seem.”

  I lift a shoulder. I could pretend I don’t come highly decorated with both military and civilian honors. I’ve earned every accolade I have. I don’t exactly go around spouting off my credentials, but I’m not going to play coy either.

  “Are there any updates on my client?”

  Georgio gestures for me to take a seat. He slides a folder across the heavy oak desk. It’s thick—these guys don’t mess around about their security.

  I open the folder and on the top is a full-sized portrait of Princess Sarah. Taken at a state dinner earlier this year, she’s dressed in gold from head to toe in a form-fitting strapless gown that hugs her every curve. I swallow hard and set the folder in my lap to hide my boner.

  With sun-kissed tan skin, long waves of dark brown hair, and a pout on her lips that could tempt a saint, the princess might be the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

  And the stuffiest.

  There’s something about her perfectly coiffed hair and flawless make-up that makes me want to muss it up a little. A bruising kiss to smear her lipstick. A hand down her top to cup her breasts. Another hand tangled in her hair, letting loose locks fall over her shoulders.

  My cock jerks to life in my pants.

  I flip the photo over to read a report of the recent threat level. Fury slices through me, and I have an overwhelming urge to punch someone. Anyone.

  I glance up to meet Georgio’s equally hard stare. “That’s a lot of new threats against the princess.”

  “Rhodon is an old, traditional kingdom. No woman has sat on the throne in two-hundred years.”

  “And a lot of people aren’t too happy about that.” Great. Nothing like some backwards thinking people to complicate progress. Not to mention threaten the life of a woman so beautiful, her face has filled my dreams the past few nights.

  “That’s why you’re here.” Georgio folds his hands on the desk. “Though some of us think the princess should be informed about the severity of these threats, the king has ordered us to keep them confidential.”

  “Why?” Doesn’t a woman have a right to know when her life is in danger?

  “The king doesn’t want her to worry. Thinks she has enough on her plate.”

  It’s not much of an excuse. “But wouldn’t it make things easier if she knew?”

  “It’s your job to keep her safe.”

  The way he says it leaves no room for discussion or debate. Seeing that I’ll let the matter rest—for now at least—Georgio rises. “Let’s go meet her.”

  I follow him out of the wood-paneled office and into a long corridor. With vaulted ceilings and paintings in gold frames lining the walls, this place is every inch a palace. It’s like I’ve stepped into one of those princess movies my sister used to watch on repeat when we were kids.

  We make a few more turns, go up one staircase and down another, before we come to stand outside a pair of double doors. A footman bows his head to Georgio and slips inside. I shove my hands in my pockets and glance around, noting the ornate vase on an equally ancient end table. There are a lot of breakables in this place. I’m almost afraid to move for fear of knocking something over. The footman returns a moment later and pulls open the door.

  Georgio leads the way into the room. This one is decorated with softer colors and fabrics, vases overflowing with flowers that give the room a fragrant scent.

  And there, seated on a high-backed antique sofa is the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.

  “Your highness, may I present Ryan Timmons. Your new guard.”

  She rises to her feet. Dressed more casually in a flowy top and some of those cropped pants my sister says are trendy, she’s every bit as gorgeous as her pict
ure.

  Maybe even more so. My cock swells, and I lower the folder so it won’t give me away. Georgio stares at me, then jerks his head. Oh, shit. Bending at the waist, I bow and murmur, “Ma’am.”

  Straightening, I look up and straight into her dark brown eyes. She might as well reach out and grab my dick. Down boy.

  Slowly, she raises her hand and holds it out to me. Though I’d rather push her up against a wall and make her mine, I take the offered hand and shake. Warm, soft skin sends heat radiating through me. I release her hand and take a step back.

  “If you will leave us,” she says, dismissing Georgio and the footman. Now we’re alone. Too alone.

  “I looked over your resume.” She arches an eyebrow. “Quite impressive. I am afraid you will be rather bored following me to breakfast meetings and ballets.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” More of one than she will ever know.

  “Let us cut to the chase. I do not require your services.”

  “Your father thinks otherwise.”

  “Yes, well, I still—”

  I raise my hand to cut her off and her eyes widen. Shit. She’s probably never been interrupted in her life. It’s a good thing her father is my boss and not her. Otherwise, I’d be packing my bags already.

  “With all due respect,” I say, keeping my tone gentle and contrite. “It’s my job to keep you alive. I’ll be sticking to your side like glue until your father says otherwise.”

  Her eyes cool, and for some reason her glare is even more intoxicating than those pouty lips. “We will have to see about that.”

  Sarah

  The man is insufferable. It hasn’t even been a full day since Ryan stormed into our castle—and into my life. I am barely allowed to set foot outside my bedroom without having him following close behind. He even stands outside the powder room door when I tend to more delicate matters.

  And, let me tell you, it is beyond difficult to tend to nature’s call when a man who looks like he stepped out of a Hollywood action movie is standing within earshot. Him with his cropped, dirty blond hair, stubble-covered jaw, and a pair of hazel eyes so piercing, I might need a doctor to check my heart.